The victorious driver raised his fists high in the air and let out a chilling cry of victory, then strutted around the perimeter of the race course, his wide mouth set in a grin, his face like a malevolent jack- o'-lantern. His arrogant posturing put to rest any doubts that the col- lision was an accident. A lone boo issued from the stunned crowd, then was joined by others, growing into an angry chorus as the spec- tators showed their disapproval of the winning tactics. Disgusted with the race, guests began to move back to the museum.

The driver gestured at the departing spectators as if daring some- one to step forward. His gaze swept the crowd-looking for anyone brave or foolish enough to take him on-when it fell on Austin. The dark eyes narrowed into slits. Austin tensed. Standing only a few feet away was the man who had slashed him and tossed a hand grenade into his boat at the Mermaid's Gate. He would have recog- nized the man from the hate burning in his feral eyes even without the vertical tattoo lines on the cheekbones and the mangled knot of flesh where Austin had bashed him in the nose.

The thick lips in the dark, wide face formed a silent word. Austin.

Austin was stunned that the man knew his name, but he hid his surprise.

Using his most mocking tone, he said, “Long time no see, Nanook. You owe me for the plastic surgery I did on your pretty face.”

The driver stepped closer until they were a foot or so apart, sepa- rated only by the yellow tape. Austin could smell the man's fetid breath.

“The name is Umealiq/' he said. ”I want you to call my name when you beg me for mercy."

“Don't blame you for being dissatisfied with your nose job,” Austin said evenly. “You didn't give me a lot to work with. Pay me for the boat you blew up and we'll call it even.”

"The only payment you will get is death,ff the man snarled. His thick fingers dropped down to his belt, and he began to slide the bone knife from its scabbard. Although most of the spectators had left, there were still knots of people hanging around. Austin sensed that there was no safety in numbers and the man would not hesitate to kill him, even in front of dozens of witnesses. He clenched his right fist, ready to send it crashing into the broken nose, where it would inflict the most damage and pain.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a sudden movement. Ben Nighthawk had hurled himself at the driver. The Indian was too light and his tackling form too imperfect to do any damage. The driver grunted, and his squat body shuddered slightly from the im- pact, but he kept his footing and swatted Nighthawk aside with a mighty blow.